


Actions, Not Words

by Anonymous



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Marriage, Married Life, Married Sex, Size Kink, Wooing, because yeah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Basil and Ratigan get better acquainted while negotiating over their new life together.Kicks off right after 'Do You, Basil'.Sequel to 'The Only Sensible Option' (Part 3 of 3)





	1. Chapter 1

Basil woke in the early hours.

 

When he rolled over, he came face to face with the wall of solid muscle that was Ratigan. He was sleeping soundly, and radiating an inviting heat that Basil allowed himself to bask in for a while as he watched him interestedly. The last time he’d shared sleeping quarters with someone had been at university, and recalling how awkward that experience had been, he pondered how this – all of it – was going to work.

 

It hadn’t exactly been news that Ratigan was attracted to him. The man had always put on a bit of a display around him, but initially Basil had thought that Ratigan puffing his chest out, flexing his muscles and swishing his tail were simply attempts to intimidate him. And then once, during one of their several altercations, he’d noticed Ratigan’s pupils dilate during a rare lapse of self-control when he’d grabbed Basil’s shoulder. Afterwards, a more thorough analysis of their exchange caused Basil to conclude that Ratigan’s slip had been out of the desire not to hurt, but to _touch_ , and because he’d touched him. Of course, Basil had brushed it off as unremarkable; a mere consequence of Ratigan possessing a general liking for smaller males, particularly mice. It was certainly nothing that would ever be realised, he’d thought, perhaps not even by the man himself, for Ratigan was still indifferent to him, surely?

 

Now, however, Basil would have to confront the full truth of Ratigan’s interest in him, and he was underprepared. He doubted that his own masturbatory experiences had readied him for what was likely to be the rather precarious business of having sex with his husband.

 

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t curious himself; it was just the sheer _extent_ of Ratigan’s attraction to him that he found alarming. They’d had many debates; heated and otherwise over what was by now their fairly long acquaintance. The subjects of such discussions were usually current topics; sometimes rather obscure or unremarkable to the average person, but important. Crime often came into it; but the two of them were more likely to argue over how it ought to be solved than how it should be prevented or punished. He felt foolish for not having understood just how much Ratigan enjoyed their altercations.

 

Basil shook himself. His inexperience should be of little matter; he knew the basics and could learn anything he needed to... but Ratigan didn’t want some basic, mechanical relationship with him.

 

Basil slid out of the large bed, careful not to wake Ratigan. He still had his shirt and britches on, and he shivered in the cold morning air. He went into the front room, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind him before seeking out his smoking jacket. He found it beneath a stack of books on his red armchair, and tugged it out from under them, barely noticing when two of the books fell to the floor with a thump. He turned to find that the dining table (usually kept in the corner and covered in books and apparatus), had been cleared and moved further into the room, with two unfamiliar, larger chairs positioned at it. Ratigan’s cape and top hat were hanging by the front door.

 

It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary to find that his things had been moved around. Mrs. Judson had her own notions about where certain things belonged, and when she had taken particular offense to his use of her furniture she liked to demonstrate these ideas. It could sometimes become rather disorienting, but Basil was content to let it continue, as she _was_ the one who cleaned and tidied everything anyway. It was their own private little tug of war, and he found it really quite amusing.

 

Basil pulled the jacket on as he scrutinized his home before sighing and walking over to the map of London on the wall, where he’d pinpointed Ms. Browne’s office.

 

With a piece of chalk he began to mark out where he’d chased the vole; including the tavern where they’d both stopped. When he finished, he stepped back and observed his drawings, and then began to pace up and down, muttering to himself. His arm and ribs still throbbed dully, but he ignored it.

 

As the hour passed by he went over everything about the case, but knew that with no knowledge of who the vole was, there was little to go on. Certainly he was doing somebody else’s dirty work; his actions betrayed a mind too simple to have come up with the theft himself.

 

Basil had expected Ms. Browne to be long absent when he’d gone to her office, and had already sent enquiries as to her whereabouts; for it was looking increasingly as though she was either dead or nonexistent. That was the news he was waiting for now; if she was found alive and well he’d have to visit her himself for answers.

 

At one point he became dimly aware of Ratigan passing him as the man headed for the bathroom. He might have announced himself, but Basil wasn’t sure. Not long after that, Mrs. Judson entered to light the fire.

 

‘I could hardly believe the state you were in yesterday,’ she grumbled as she threw the kindling on. ‘And for Mr. and Mrs. Nest to _still_ make you... Well, if it had been up to me everything would have been different.’

 

Basil continued to pace.

 

‘Indeed,’ he said, frowning.

 

They continued their tasks in silence for a while, until Mrs. Judson finally stood up, having left a good, steady flame in the hearth. She bustled back to her own quarters, grumbling something about ‘the correct ways of parenting’. It was quiet again for a moment, before;

 

‘Oh, Basil! Please tell me these weren’t _my_ doilies!’ Basil heard her cry suddenly.

 

Basil winced, but persisted in his steps back and forth across the room. She didn’t even like those doilies, he knew. That was why they’d been stuffed carelessly in the cupboard instead of pristinely folded in her drawer of Special Things.

 

As he’d predicted, she didn’t repeat herself nor return for an explanation. She’d soon be glad he’d made use of them, he was certain of it. Although, perhaps he ought to conceal his violin and pipe from her.

 

 

 

When Ratigan finally re-emerged, Basil greeted him with a distracted, ‘Good morning.’ as he continued to frown at his notes.

 

‘Good morning, Basil,’ said Ratigan, straightening out his bathrobe as he took in Basil and the map behind him. ‘Hard at work already?’

 

Basil grunted in response, bracing for an argument as he was technically breaking the rules of their agreement already, but Ratigan simply ducked down to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

Basil blushed rather violently under his fur and didn’t look at him as he walked towards the dining table. Ratigan had shaved, he noted.

 

But of course he had, Basil scolded himself. Ratigan had to shave everyday. He’d _always_ known that.

 

He heard Mrs. Judson return and say, ‘He’s not likely to eat much more than that.’, and Ratigan drawling something in return, but concentrated on his work until he could no longer bear it.

 

‘I believe I’ve hit a dead end,’ he proclaimed finally, still staring at the map.

 

‘How frustrating,’ said Ratigan smoothly.

 

‘Until I hear back from the Liverpool City Police, presuming they’re capable of doing what I need.’

 

‘Why don’t you come and eat something, Basil?’

 

Basil slowly tore his gaze from the messily scrawled address on the paper he held, and turned around. The table had been neatly laid out for a meal in a way he hadn't seen for at least two years.

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘ _Breakfast_ , Basil,’ said Ratigan, smiling indulgently from where he was seated at the table. ‘You hardly ate anything at the reception.’

 

‘Ah,’ said Basil. ‘Yes.’

 

He went over to the red armchair and picked up one of the fallen books, into which he folded his notes, and then tossed them back onto the chair, before joining Ratigan at the table.

 

Ratigan watched with an amused expression, before helping himself to more bread and cheese.

 

Basil ate carefully, finding himself just on the verge of nausea as a result of not eating enough in the last few hours.

 

‘How are your injuries?’ asked Ratigan, using his knife to spear some cheese on his fork.

 

‘Better,’ said Basil, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. ‘Thank you for asking.’

 

‘Who was it who hurt you?’

 

‘I don’t know the fellow’s identity.’

 

‘Tell me anyway.’

 

‘...Well, I was surprised by this vole fellow – or rather, I surprised _him_. Tried to club me over the head, which I blocked. That did my arm. And the ribs, I’m afraid to say was from falling over. So it was all my own doing, really.’

 

Ratigan hummed, and popped the fork and cheese into his mouth, before sliding the (now clean) fork out and chewing thoughtfully.

 

‘Would you really not consider taking a form of bodyguard with you?’ he asked, when he’d finally swallowed. ‘When you must put yourself at risk?’

 

‘A consulting detective hiring a consulting bodyguard?’ said Basil, amused.

 

‘If you like.’

 

‘I don’t think so.’

 

‘You wouldn’t even ask one of Dupont’s men; to accompany you on occasion?’

 

‘No, _thank_ you,’ said Basil with a huff.

 

This was reminding him very strongly of one of their very first disputes.

 

It had been a few months after their first meeting, when Ratigan had suddenly deemed Basil worth speaking to properly. He’d still been unpleasant, but somewhere along the line Basil must have become interesting to him, because he’d appeared quite determined to keep him to himself for as long as possible.

 

‘Tell me all about this hobby of yours, Basil,’ Ratigan had said smarmily, moving so that the last remaining straggler (a rather put out Mr. Miller) of what _had_ been a group conversation was effectively blocked out of their exchange.

 

‘Oh, yes. I solve crimes in a _part time_ capacity,’ Basil had replied sarcastically.

 

‘Ah, _forgive_ me, I understood that you have no office or reliable working hours,’ said Ratigan. ‘Perhaps I’m wrong?’

 

Basil glared up at him.

 

‘I am _always_ at work, Ratigan,’ he said icily.

 

‘And there was me under the impression that that’s what we have the police for,’ Ratigan drawled, clearly enjoying himself.

 

‘Everyone likes to think so, of course. I’m a consulting detective.’

 

‘Oh, I see. How quaint.’

 

Basil had been about to make an excuse to leave, when Ratigan continued;

 

‘So, with each case you suss out the criminal’s intent, and then what?’

 

‘I pursue them, and stop them,’ said Basil pointedly.

 

‘And it always goes so smoothly, does it?’

 

‘Of course not. But one can’t stand idle at such times.’

 

‘Oh, indeed. And what tends to happen, when you catch up with them?’

 

Basil had already been well and truly annoyed by this stage, and was in no mood to thoroughly explain the ins and outs of his work any more than he thought Ratigan actually wanted to know them.

 

‘Then they are caught,’ he said boredly.

 

‘Come now, Basil,’ said Ratigan. ‘A true entrepreneur must learn to promote themselves as well as perfect their craft.’

 

‘I am not a businessman.’

 

‘Now, tell me; what happens when they’re cornered?’

 

‘Some come quietly.’

 

‘Why?’

 

‘Because they know they’re caught. Some _want_ to be caught. They want everyone to know how clever they are.’

 

‘And others?’

 

‘They run, or go into hiding.’

 

‘And the rest?’

 

Basil had looked up at him then.

 

‘They must fight, some of them, surely,’ Ratigan prompted.

 

‘Some,’ said Basil. ‘Some are more aggressive than others, yes.’

 

‘And what then? I’ve heard that you abhor violence.’

 

‘I’m not incapable of defending myself – or others.’

 

‘But it’s likely to happen, is it not? You will be outnumbered or outmatched – physically, I mean. What do you do?’

 

‘The police arrive, usually. I take care to alert the authorities beforehand, where I can.’

 

‘And if they _don’t_? You are just one mouse, Basil.’

 

‘In that case _I_ would run.’

 

‘Leaving the police with more work protecting you?’

 

‘I do not need their protection, and I certainly wouldn’t ask for it.’

 

‘How _arrogant_ you are,’ Ratigan spat then, the anger in his voice startling Basil. ‘Do you really think you’re so above everyone else?’

 

‘I’m sure no more than you do, _Professor_ ,’ he said, and stormed away from him.

 

Basil had fumed for the rest of the evening, but hadn’t given Ratigan the satisfaction of saying any more to him. He’d heard it from everyone else; that it was a fruitless task he’d given himself, that he was selfish for undertaking it, and an embarrassment to his connections.

 

At present, Ratigan did not appear to want a repeat of that argument, but Basil still wondered. Did Ratigan still think him arrogant; still think his work idiotic and pointless?

 

It was certainly true that, in the last year or so when they’d been forced into each other’s company, Ratigan had been far less intrusive with him. Now, he was far more thoughtful and took greater care in what he said to Basil.

 

‘Have you informed the police of this blaggard?’ asked Ratigan, pausing Basil’s trail of thought.

 

‘Hmm?’

 

‘The vole who attacked you?’

 

‘Oh,’ said Basil, sipping his tea. ‘No.’

 

‘Give me a description of him and I shall do so today.’

 

‘I’m quite capable of doing it myself. I’ll do so now that I have finished charting his movements.’

 

‘I simply wish for the police to understand the importance of the matter. I will make my own feelings known.’

 

Basil put his teacup down.

 

‘Dupont will know it’s serious when I contact him,’ he said.

 

‘But I understand that your relationship with the rest of the constabulary is not _quite_ so trustworthy,’ said Ratigan, grinning and showing off his pointed teeth. ‘I would like to express my dissatisfaction should everything not be done to apprehend this criminal.’

 

Basil shook his head.

 

‘I am not the victim of the crime, Ratigan,’ he said.

 

‘That is of little consequence,’ said Ratigan, ‘it ought to be taken seriously.’

 

‘My dear fellow, they would be unlikely to take it seriously after _that_ , let alone me.’

 

‘You underestimate my way with people, Basil.’

 

‘I assure you that I do not.’

 

And Basil didn’t. Even excluding Ratigan’s wealth and influence, he was a skilled speaker and negotiator. And he could be _nasty_ when he wanted to. It was rumoured that Ratigan had made the Prime Minister cry. Twice.

 

‘Then I shall deliver the message later today,’ said Ratigan, and Basil groaned.

 

Ratigan picked up his own teacup, and considered Basil for a moment.

 

‘Will you accompany me out?’ he said finally. ‘I was thinking we could go to the Savoy.’

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for how long this took to post. Had several nightmares with files and thinking I'd deleted it and general life. This part also turned out quite a bit longer than the other, and I was considering splitting it, but then you guys wouldn't have got the smut yet, and I think you've waited quite long enough! I also feel I should apologise as it might seem like I'm setting up a mystery with the intention of seeing the crime being solved, and I don't think I am. *facepalm* Thank you to everyone who has been reading and leaving comments and kudos. Anyway, I won't keep you any longer!!

 

‘Inspector. Any news on that lead I gave you?’

 

Inspector Dupont rolled his eyes as Basil entered his office.

 

‘There are likely to be a few "Ms. Browne’s" in Liverpool, Basil,’ he said wearily. ‘It’s a common enough name down _here_.’

 

‘Yes, well do tell them to get a move on,’ said Basil, moving over to the notice board opposite the desk.

 

‘Been out somewhere?’ asked Dupont, eyeing Basil’s attire.

 

‘Going to,’ replied Basil.

 

Just as Dupont opened his mouth to retort, a large shadow fell over the office.

 

‘Good afternoon, Inspector,’ said Ratigan smoothly. ‘Beastly weather, isn’t it?’

 

Basil glanced over at him, before turning back to the board without concern.

 

‘I- Professor Ratigan?!’ stammered Dupont, blinking up at him from his desk before standing hurriedly. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

 

Basil scoffed slightly, still engrossed by the leaflets and posters in front of him.

 

‘What brings you here, Professor?’ Dupont asked Ratigan, still visibly alarmed.

 

‘He’s with me,’ said Basil, lifting one of the reward posters with a finger to examine the papers hidden beneath.

 

‘Oh, yes?’

 

‘Indeed,’ said Ratigan. ‘I followed my husband here. Quite the slip you gave me there, Basil.’

 

Dupont raised an eyebrow, looking between the pair of them.

 

‘ – Husband?’ he repeated uncertainly.

 

‘Oh,’ said Basil vaguely, abandoning the board and walking over to them. ‘We got married.’

 

‘Indeed?’ said Dupont incredulously. ‘I must confess I did not know the two of you were familiar with each other.’

 

‘Oh, yes,’ drawled Ratigan. ‘We’ve been acquainted for many years now.’

 

‘So, when was the occasion?’ asked Dupont.

 

‘Yesterday,’ said Basil.

 

Dupont blinked.

 

‘Well, I offer you both my congratulations!’ he said.

 

‘Thank you, Inspector,’ said Ratigan graciously.

 

As Dupont rambled on about how most unexpected this new information was, Basil became aware of a small group of mice that had stopped to listen just outside the door, and so he went over to kick it shut, glaring at them. The three of them (including the detestable Sergeant Dodgson) at least had the decency to look rather sheepish before they were cut off from view.

 

‘... – you’ll still find Basil at Baker Street,’ Ratigan was saying as he returned. ‘Provided he’s not out on one of his adventures, of course.’

 

'Ha!' said Dupont. 'Of course!'

 

‘Anyway,’ said Basil, interrupting. ‘I went to Ms. Browne’s office three days ago.’

 

‘ – You?’ Dupont began, and then sighed. ‘You didn’t tell me there was an office.’

 

‘The only thing I found of significance there was a vole, whom I gave chase to.’

 

‘He was using the office?’

 

‘ _He_ jumped out and tried to club Basil over the head,’ Ratigan cut in.

 

‘Ratigan, please,’ groused Basil, and turned back to Dupont. ‘Light brown fur. Navy blue cap, brown jacket and trousers. He’s certainly faster than he looks, but not beyond average intelligence.’

 

Dupont hesitated before hurriedly scribbling down the description.

 

‘I sincerely doubt he’s responsible for the crime; whatever it is,’ Basil continued.

 

‘We’ll certainly look into it,’ said Dupont, frowning down at his notes.

 

‘And Ms. Browne?’

 

Dupont rolled his eyes, before catching himself.

 

‘Ah, but you see, Basil,’ he began, glancing at Ratigan dubiously. ‘When there is no clearly discernable crime – ’

 

‘Well, now you have a missing woman,’ Basil pointed out cheerfully.

 

‘No “discernable crime”, Inspector?’ cut in Ratigan icily.

 

‘Leave it,’ said Basil.

 

‘Basil, you could have been killed; in fact, I’d be willing to bet that was the intention.’

 

‘Irrelevant. He was trying to get away without being seen.’

 

‘My dear Basil, how is that “irrelevant?” An attempted murder is far more serious than an attempted injury, and he _did_ injure you.’

 

‘I’m fine!’

 

 _‘Did_ he injure you?’ Dupont, (whose knuckles had been clenching progressively tighter as their bickering got louder) asked Basil.

 

‘No!’ snapped Basil.

 

‘Yes, he did,’ said Ratigan to Dupont. ‘Wrenched his arm dreadfully.’

 

‘I was still perfectly able to pursue him, which I did for the _entire_ night.’

 

‘And then he hurt his ribs giving chase. And so you see, Inspector, it is of great importance that this individual – obviously highly dangerous – be apprehended.’

 

 ‘Well, of course,’ said Dupont uncomfortably. ‘Of course.’

 

‘I myself would be very unhappy were you and your team to not take this case seriously.’

 

Dupont looked indignant at this as Basil groaned.

 

‘Very sweet, _dear_ , but I think the urgency should extend to the whereabouts of Ms. Browne,’ said Basil mockingly. ‘We can’t, after all, know what the crime is until we find out more about her.’

 

‘Indeed,’ said Ratigan. ‘But if Ms. Browne exists, then we know there’s a suspect able and willing to kidnap or murder her. If not, he is still a suspect able and willing to kill to protect his crimes – or that of his boss.’ He cleared his throat, and looked down his nose at Dupont. ‘That is, until the police in Liverpool find anything, assuming that they will recognise the urgency of the matter based on what you give them.’

 

‘My good man,’ said Dupont, suddenly indignant. ‘I assure you that we are taking the greatest care – ’

 

‘Oh, I don’t doubt it,’ said Ratigan. ‘But it is difficult being the spouse of a consulting detective, even for such a short amount of time. You trust Basil’s judgement, do you not?’

 

‘I do, sir.’

 

‘And, therefore, I should hope you will always work as fast as possible on the leads he gives you to minimise the harm that might befall him, or indeed anyone else.’

 

‘Of course...’ said Dupont, trailing away for a moment before shuffling awkwardly in his seat. ‘I – shall message Liverpool City to see what their progress is, Basil.’

 

Basil was surprised. He fidgeted slightly.

 

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I would be grateful for it.’ Remembering himself suddenly, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a piece of paper, running his finger along the red lines he’d drawn. ‘This is the route he took. I tailed him to there, you see. That is the last place I saw him.’

 

‘Thank you,’ said Dupont, taking the paper in his hands, before frowning somewhat. ‘You – want us involved there?’

 

‘Problem?’

 

‘It’s just that _you_ usually like to do the, erm – ’

 

‘Yes? Ah, the “legwork”, as my sister calls it?’

 

‘Yes. You’re usually rather territorial over that part.’

 

‘I’ll be around, don’t misunderstand me. But I have promised my time to other things.’

 

‘I see.’

 

‘Excellent,’ said Ratigan, clapping his hands together. ‘That’s settled then. Are you ready, Basil?’

 

Basil gave a small nod, and moved towards the door.

 

‘W-wait a moment – what about the office?’ Dupont stammered, holding up a hand.

 

‘There was nothing else significant in there,’ said Basil. ‘If there was, then the vole took it.’

 

‘But you were interrupted, weren’t you?’

 

‘I’d had enough time before that happened. Take another look if you wish, but the place hasn’t been used for some time. He made no attempt to double back.’

 

‘ – Right, well I’ll get someone onto that anyhow.’

 

‘Shall we?’ said Ratigan, marching over to join Basil by the door and opening it. He offered his giant arm, which Basil took.

 

‘Dupont,’ said Basil, nodding at him.

 

‘Good day to you, Inspector,’ said Ratigan, flashing him a smile.

 

‘ – Good day,’ said Dupont warily as Ratigan and Basil left.

 

 

 

Ratigan knew his way around London better than Basil did. He’d already decided which route they’d take, and casually relayed it as they walked, showing off his perfect mental map of the over ground roads, and of the secret tunnels and walkways made up of disused pipes. He said nothing of Basil’s deflecting to Scotland Yard. Basil had thought he might be irritated, but it wasn’t so, and he even seemed a little more excitable than he had beforehand; touching Basil upon the back and arm now and again as they went.

 

Basil studied him as they travelled. It didn’t reveal much; nothing that he hadn’t suspected already:

 

_Ratigan knows London’s streets almost without looking. He most likely spent a good portion of his youth navigating the city. He has preferred routes, and he is not intimidated by the supposedly “dangerous streets”, because he knows which streets really are “dangerous” and he still has a reputation in those. Perhaps he was the one to make those streets dangerous in the first place. He clearly does not fear blackmail, however. He is unconcerned by the prospect of running into someone from his past, and therefore it seems unlikely that he has any family in London._

 

When they arrived at the Savoy, the headwaiter greeted them and showed them discreetly to a table that was higher, with wider chairs more suited to Ratigan’s size.

 

Basil didn’t tend to dine out unless it was convenient, and certainly nowhere too grand. There was always the danger of running into his parents or their acquaintances, but if he was far enough from home on a case he would risk it. He had been to the Savoy only once before, when he’d led a gang of very angry thieves through reception and the main dining area. He’d been wearing a dress and bonnet at the time, and so it was reasonable to assume he would go unrecognised by the staff that afternoon. He was uncomfortable enough as it was; his dinner jacket rarely saw the light of day and was appropriately pristine and stiff. Still, Ratigan seemed to have formulated a plan for the evening, and Basil felt it would be impolite to sabotage  _every_ opportunity for courtship. He wasn’t entirely sure how to start such things himself, and so he’d decided he would allow Ratigan to do his bit first.

 

As Ratigan perused the menu, (which appeared so diminutive in his large, gloved hands) Basil settled back into his chair to survey his husband again via a few snatched glances over the list of entrées.

 

‘Is white wine agreeable to you, Basil?’ Ratigan asked casually after a moment as though they did this every day.

 

‘Of course,’ said Basil, nodding.

 

When the waiter returned, he took Basil’s order first (on Ratigan’s insistence), and then took Ratigan’s. Basil would have debated this a little more, but then he remembered yet again that this was his husband’s moment to woo him and that he should probably allow for such gestures today.

 

Ratigan spoke with an air of confidence that almost certainly confirmed for Basil that he dined out often enough. Basil noted that Ratigan hadn’t glanced at the food options, but had taken his time in reading the wine list.

 

_And yet the waiter doesn't seem to know him..._

 

Ratigan caught Basil watching him after a moment, and his eyes flashed knowingly.

 

‘Still hard at work, Basil?’ he asked when the waiter had moved off. He laced his long fingers together in front of him.

 

Basil blushed.

 

It didn’t take long for their food to arrive. The pair of them chatted agreeably over their meals, and Basil found he just couldn’t take his eyes off Ratigan.

 

‘Where does the dog come from?’ Ratigan asked after the starters had been cleared away.

 

‘The flat two floors up,’ said Basil, sipping his wine. ‘Toby, his name is. He’s the most excellent scent hound.’

 

‘Hm, I’m not overly fond of dogs,’ said Ratigan. ‘I much prefer felines.’

 

Basil raised an eyebrow at him.

 

‘Are you being serious?’ he said mutedly.

 

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ replied Ratigan, waving a hand. ‘But kittens are terribly sweet, they really are. It’s not _impossible_ for a rodent to keep one as a pet, you know.’

 

‘ – You’ve been around many kittens?’

 

Basil tried to imagine Ratigan cooing over such a dangerous animal. Hell, he thought, Ratigan would probably keep a crocodile if it suited him.

 

‘I have in my time, yes,’ said Ratigan wistfully. ‘Best to get them at the right age, of course. Boisterous little things.’

 

Basil just stared at him.

 

It was as they were finishing up their main course, that Ratigan set his wine glass down and levelled Basil with another knowing stare.

 

‘Now, please don’t think it escaped my notice that you didn’t enjoy our wedding,’ he said softly.

 

Startled by the change of conversation, Basil blinked.

 

‘And you did?’ he asked.

 

‘I am, at least, glad that it took place. I am hoping that today is making up for yesterday, in some part.’

 

Ah, yes, Basil thought. The _wooing_. Basil had been the one to request that they did not go away on a honeymoon, which Ratigan had agreed to, partly on account of his work not allowing for long enough to do so anyway. So it was to be now.

 

‘You don’t need to go to all this trouble, you know,’ he said gently.

 

Ratigan looked at him, his brow raised.

 

‘Oh?’ he said.

 

‘I mean – ’ Basil continued awkwardly. ‘I do appreciate the gesture – but it was my own fault I was out of sorts yesterday, and besides, we’re already married.’

 

Ratigan chuckled.

 

‘Therefore you’re completely open to suggestion?’ he said dryly.

 

Basil blushed again.

 

‘What I mean to say,’ he said, jutting his chin out and meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘Is that I don’t require chasing down. I _am_ willing to make my own efforts in this relationship.’

 

‘You’re inexperienced,’ said Ratigan; half question, half statement.

 

‘Oh, but you _can_ make suggestions if you wish,’ replied Basil conversationally. ‘I’m not completely ignorant on the subject.’

 

Ratigan leaned back in his chair, regarding him carefully.

 

‘Tonight?’ he asked.

 

‘Seems as good a time as any,’ Basil said, shrugging.

 

Ratigan’s fingers twitched slightly, and Basil’s gaze flickered over them again. He couldn’t help but be fascinated by them. Ratigan’s large frame rather dwarfed his own hands, but Basil knew that they were as powerful as the rest of him. He had five fingers on each, which Basil found all the more intriguing, and although the claws were retracted now inside the white gloves, he could imagine what they were capable of. Knowing that it would be tactless to stare; sensitive as Ratigan was about his nature, Basil looked back up at him and gave him a reassuring nod.

 

‘Well, my dear,’ said Ratigan. ‘I’d hate to disappoint you.’

 

‘As long as – ’ Basil began.

 

‘Yes?’

 

‘You don’t actually _have_ a cat, do you?’

 

‘Would you care to look at the dessert menu, gentlemen?’ said the waiter when they were finished.

 

‘Not today, my good man,’ Ratigan drawled, his tail thumping slightly upon the polished floor decisively. ‘Thank you.’

 

 

 

Basil yawned when they reached home. Travelling around London took its toll on a mouse, but he knew he needed to perk up if he was going to allow Ratigan to... well, he’d have to see.

 

He shivered. Although the frost had thawed earlier that day, it was still very cold. It was annoying him now; he _hated_ feeling out of his depth. But being scared was just idiotic. Not knowing something was usually intriguing to him; he should look upon this as being like a new case.

 

Ratigan, meanwhile, was very quiet behind him as they crossed the threshold. Right up until the moment Basil had hung up his coat and removed his dinner jacket, and then he was practically at Basil’s back; mouth by the mouse’s ear, and long, thick tail coming to loosely circle him.

 

‘Bedroom?’ breathed Ratigan.

 

‘That sounds agreeable,’ said Basil, nuzzling tentatively against him for a moment and then moved away.

 

Ratigan looked surprised when he looked back, and Basil was proud of himself for maintaining his composure as he turned and walked towards the bedroom.

 

Ratigan followed after another moment or two, and had to duck down to get into the room, and Basil reminded himself that they _had_ to get the doorways modified.

 

Once inside, it was Basil’s turn to freeze uncertainly.

 

Ratigan moved over to the huge bed to sit on the edge. He beckoned to Basil, who dutifully went over to climb onto his knee.

 

Now in Ratigan’s lap, Basil looked up at him expectantly. Ratigan chuckled, and encircled Basil in his arms before leaning down to kiss him delicately. Basil’s breath hitched in slight surprise. Of course he’d known he would like this, but he hadn’t realised quite how _much_.

 

After a short while, the kiss deepened, and Basil brought his hands down to run them over Ratigan’s chest. Goodness, he thought, Ratigan was _huge_. Not for the first time, he considered what a formidable enemy Ratigan might have made had either of them pursued a less law-abiding career.

 

Ratigan gave a growl at that point, and Basil became acutely aware that his cock was already hard against his britches. He flushed hotly. Would Ratigan think him juvenile for such a quick reaction? He paused. And had that been an angry growl? If Ratigan did indeed hold such derision for his true nature, would he even want to be touched?

 

Ratigan stopped then, and Basil opened his eyes to find his husband’s yellow gaze close to his.

 

‘Are you all right, darling?’ asked Ratigan, voice deep and dark and _absolutely_ still interested in continuing by the sound of it.

 

It wouldn’t matter anyway, thought Basil as he pulled Ratigan back in for a harder kiss. No, Basil wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing or what he wanted, but he would be a full participant, not just a receiver for Ratigan’s affections.

 

They broke apart after a while, both panting lightly and clinging to each other. Basil ran a hand along Ratigan’s jaw, surprised when Ratigan nuzzled into his hand slightly and gave him a wicked grin.

 

‘Basil,’ he said. ‘I want...’ He trailed off, seeming to be so overcome with the possibilities before him.

 

Basil nodded.

 

‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Just – tell me or... or show me what you want to do.’

 

Ratigan growled again, his pupils blown as he raised a huge hand to Basil’s chest.

 

‘Clothes,’ he said.

 

Basil swallowed, and began to unbutton his vest. Ratigan eyed the movement of his hands hungrily for a while, until finally Basil was pulling his cravat away and shrugging out of the vest.

 

Ratigan cradled Basil easily in his arms and turned them around. He laid Basil on his back upon the bed, and Basil went willingly, biting his lip when he saw his own obvious erection tenting the front of his britches. But it seemed only to excite Ratigan further, because he bent to rub his face along Basil’s thigh, _very_ close to his cock.

 

‘Erm – !’ gasped Basil uncertainly.

 

Ratigan chuckled, and the vibrations ran throughout Basil as he clumsily unfastened his shirt. He tried to help Basil with the last few buttons, but it was a struggle with his hands being so much bigger, and in the end he merely took the liberty of stroking him.

 

Basil decided to be brave and reached to un-tuck Ratigan’s cravat, mirroring the cocked eyebrow that Ratigan sent his way and smirking at him.

 

‘Insolent little thing,’ growled Ratigan, but obediently clawed at his own vest until it was undone and Basil could untie the cravat. He reached to take it from Basil, but his eyes widened when Basil pulled the piece of silk to his chest defiantly. It was certainly a bold move; trapped as he was beneath Ratigan’s frame on the bed, but Basil merely smiled up at him and then started to run the material between his fingers.

 

Ratigan snapped down at him playfully, and Basil laughed. He grabbed the cravat from Basil and tossed it to the side, and Basil lay there smirking at him.

 

‘Such insolence,’ hissed Ratigan, flashing his many sharp teeth.

 

Unable to reply, Basil just stretched lazily beneath him.

 

‘Basil – darling. Please, let me – ’ Ratigan’s hands were hovering over his crotch, and Basil nodded his consent.

 

It took a little while, and Basil felt a twinge of relish as he heard something tear, but eventually Basil was naked before Ratigan. Ratigan practically threw Basil’s britches across the room in his excitement, and then he was back on top of him, licking at his upper torso.

 

Basil moaned. Good grief, it was _nice_ ; being touched like this was wonderful.

 

Suddenly, Ratigan pulled one of the pillows down and easily positioned it beneath Basil’s back end. Feeling open and unsure, Basil looked up at Ratigan uncertainly, and Ratigan gave a startlingly gentle smile and cupped his cheek, stroking it for a moment. Then, finally, he shuffled down to where Basil was most vulnerable, and gave him a series of licks with his large, long tongue; from his entrance up to and over his cock.

 

‘Ah!’ cried Basil at the first lick. ‘Ratigan!’

 

‘Nice, is it?’ said Ratigan against his fur, and Basil swore.

 

Ratigan continued to lick, and Basil began to thrust into them to meet him. His hands swept across Ratigan’s hair and ears as he began to basically _hump_ him, making Ratigan shudder as he did so.

 

‘Uh, uh, uh, uh, ah, ah, I – I’m – !’

 

Ratigan pushed harder with his tongue, increasing the pressure, and Basil gasped. He shook –  the warm wetness seemed to intensify along with that God-given _ache_ , and when he came back to himself he found himself still trembling as he looked down to see Ratigan tentatively licking up the last traces of his release.


End file.
